


Long Story

by neaf



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, Friendship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neaf/pseuds/neaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a handful of years in the future. Chris and Darren and best friends, roommates, and are collaborating on a musical together on Broadway. And then, they visit Vegas. And we all know what happens in Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Story

Chris woke in the warmth of the late morning sun flooding through a high window, coating his back like a blanket and painting pale skin with golden hues. Particles flickered like glitter on the air in beams of light across the hotel room, and his eyes fluttered open lazily as he hummed a tiny sound of discontent at being conscious. Everything was so warm, and in that space between sleeping and awake, he snuggled down instinctively, watching the bubbles glide sluggishly over the glass in the crystal-blue transparent wall that split the room.  
  
The heat from his pillow flushed his cheek a light pink, and his brain wandered over vague and transient thoughts before things started to come into focus. Why was the wall full of bubbles?  
  
Why was his pillow moving?  
  
Chris’s face fell into an expression of sleepy confusion, and his eyes rolled down to what he was lying on.  
  
It took about 1.2 seconds for him to get from _why does my pillow have nipples?_ to _OH MY GOD_ , and he shot up in bed far enough to find himself face to face with a bleary-eyed, half awake Darren.  
  
They froze for a moment, eyes wide and mouths open, staring at each other in shock. After a dazed second passed, everything clicked into place and they both shouted “AAAH!” in unison before Chris jerked backwards violently, overbalanced, and went flying off the side of the bed taking half the bedding with him.  
  
Darren propped himself up on his elbows, blinking and stunned, trying to process exactly what just happened. There was a long moment of silence, and then a tiny “Ow.” from the other side of the bed.  
  
Darren’s face split into a disbelieving grin. “Chris? Are you-” he rubbed at his eyes, trying to force his brain to form sentences. “Are you okay, man?”  
  
“Fine,” Chris moaned, dragging himself to his feet. There was a red sheet wrapped around his waist, and his long fingers clutched to it for what appeared to be dear life. “Just - I - what? What the? _What happened_?”  
  
Darren cast his eyes around the room as he shifted into a sitting position, taking in the neon-lit bubble water feature and various other decadent furnishings. “Looks like we're in a hotel room.”  
  
Chris rolled his eyes and waved his free arm. “Thank you, Captain Obvious, I mean what the hell happened last night?”  
  
“You don’t remember?”  
  
Heaving a sigh, Chris stared up at the ceiling in exasperation.   
  
“Alright, calm down, calm down,” Darren chuckled. “Look, man, I don’t remember much either after the margaritas. But I do remember breaking the sign with the moving pink cowboy boot – and maybe – there was something about a disco ball?”  
  
“Ah, but no,” Chris said over his shoulder while he searched for his pants. “You breaking things always comes _before_ the drinking, strange as that may seem. Margaritas were after that.”  
  
“You make it sound like it’s a common occurrence,” Darren said, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“Only because it is,” Chris shot back. “Really, it’d almost be endearing if it didn’t happen _constantly_.”  
  
“Doesn’t happen constantly,” Darren sulked, crossing his arms.  
  
“Yes, it does.” Chris retorted quickly, still searching between cushions on the glaringly bright plush couch. “Which is why we can’t have nice things, and _where_ in the name of all that is pink and fluffy are my pants?”  
  
Darren held up a hand. “Whoa, you’re not wearing pants?”  
  
“Just boxers.”  
  
After a moment of consideration, Darren lifted the quilt that was wrapped around his hips.   
  
Chris stopped, and shook his head fondly, trying not to laugh. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Just checking,” Darren replied with a sleepy grin. His brows drew together again, but the grin didn’t fade. “You don’t think we…?”  
  
“Oh, no, no, no,” Chris shook a finger at him. “Trust me. One of us would know for sure if we had.”  
  
Darren tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean one of us would- oh.” His mouth rounded, and his eyes widened a little as Chris continued to check under furniture for their missing clothes.  
  
“Exactly. Now get dressed. God only knows what time it is.”  
  
“So if we didn’t,” Darren trailed off, waving his hand in a vague gesture.   
  
“Have sex,” Chris finished for him matter-of-factly.  
  
Darren nodded, grinning. “Then why are we nearly naked in a hotel room, and why does my lip hurt like hell?” He pressed a finger to the inside of his bottom lip, playing with it gingerly.  
  
Chris froze. “Sorry, what?”  
  
“My bottom lip, it’s killing me,” Darren’s confused gaze was cast down at the bed, and he didn’t see Chris gulp harshly, or see the wide-eyed expression on his face.  
  
A vague recollection of heated, scrambling bodies pressed against glistening bathroom tile flashed in Chris’s head, and his eyes slammed shut. He groaned.  
  
“What?” Darren asked at the sound.  
  
“I think I know where our clothes are,” Chris said darkly, penguin-shuffling in his sheet towards the bathroom.  
  
Darren laughed loudly in a delighted, squeaking noise, and clapped his hands as he rocked forward.  
  
“ _Oh_ my god, _shut up_!” Chris scolded, and disappeared through the door.  
  
A few moments later he emerged again, fully clothed, and launched a balled up pair of jeans and a shirt at Darren’s face. “There you go, Casavona.”  
  
Darren yanked the clothes off his head with a broad smile, and clutched them to his chest for a moment. “So how did you get bathroom out of ‘my lip hurts’?”  
  
Chris sat on the edge of the bed, dropping his shoes down next to him. His lips pressed into a thin line, and Darren knew that meant he was trying to figure out how to say something he didn’t want to say.  
  
“So we might’ve made out,” Chris said tentatively, focusing intently on putting his socks on.   
  
“Might have?” Darren queried with a knowing grin.  
  
“The lip thing, it’s probably my fault,” he confessed with a wince, looking over his shoulder at last.  
  
Darren’s tongue instinctively swiped over the graze on his lip, and Chris found he couldn’t look away for a moment. His breath caught, and he blinked rapidly as he forced himself to glance across the room.  
  
There was a tiny, uncomfortable moment before Darren chuckled and shrugged. “Well, it sounds like we had an awesome night. I wish I could remember, though.”  
  
“That’d be the margaritas,” Chris nodded bitterly. “I always tell myself never again, and I _always_ go back. Tequila is slowly swiss-cheesing my brain.”  
  
With another chuckle, Darren leaned back into the headboard and began untangling the mess of his clothes to find the sleeve-holes of his shirt. “So,” he said in a slightly sing-song tone, pulling his shirt over his head and smoothing it down his chest. “You’re… sure that we didn’t have sex?”  
  
Chris rolled his eyes heavenward, mouthing _oh my god_ , before he fixed Darren with a pointed stare. “Are you _sore_?” he asked bluntly.  
  
Darren blinked, and his cheeks flushed as his lips curled into a tiny smile. “No,” he said softly.  
  
“Then we didn’t have sex,” Chris concluded with a nod, waving an arm for emphasis.  
  
“Okay,” Darren agreed, still smiling. “So if we didn’t,” he began again, and watched Chris’s shoulders slump in frustration at the continuance of the conversation. “Then why are you so bitchy right now.”  
  
Chris froze, and considered for a moment before he huffed out a laugh. “I – I’m sorry. Look, I just got caught off guard, that’s all.”  
  
Darren reached out and took his hand comfortingly, and Chris smiled at the gesture. At least, until he felt the jarring grate of metal on metal where their fingers met. He blinked, and his smile fell away as he stared down at their hands in shock. There they were, plain as day. Two little silver rings.  
  
“Hooooly crap.”  
  
Darren’s brow lifted, but his expression was barely one of surprise. “Well that’s new.” he said casually.  
  
Chris glared.  
  
“What?” Darren laughed. “It’s – okay, it’s not that bad.”  
  
“Not that bad?” Chris stared at him, incredulous. “We – we’re – we!” Chris was on his feet now, arms flailing. “We got married!”  
  
Darren watched him, grinning from ear to ear.   
  
“ _Why_ are you smiling?” Chris demanded.  
  
That was all it took, really. Darren doubled over in fits of giggles, feet kicking helplessly under the blanket as the laughter washed over him in violent waves.   
  
Chris tried to keep from smiling, and glared with all his might, but his lips trembled with the effort. “Stop laughing! This isn’t funny… Darren. Darren!”  
  
Darren shook his head, trying to get across that he couldn’t actually talk right now, he was too busy crying with laughter. Still desperately trying to fight a smile, Chris scrunched his face up and leaned on one knee on the bed, thwapping his best friend repeatedly with the nearest pillow. “Its! Not! Funny!”  
  
In a flurry of limbs, Darren managed to regain control and tackled Chris back onto the bed, snatching away the pillow and throwing it aside. They collapsed again into fits, shaking uncontrollably and wiping away tears.   
  
“Ohhh, are you kidding me?” Darren managed at last, his voice high and trembling. “This is _hilarious_.”  
  
Chris pressed a hand to his flushed face, closing his eyes and trying to regain his breath. “This is why I should never, ever go anywhere with you, you understand that, right?”  
  
“What?” Darren asked, grinning so hard his eyes were nearly shut.  
  
“Because we end up breaking things,” Chris explained, trying his best to sound annoyed. “Or getting kicked out of bars. Or getting freaking _married_. Because you drive me insane.”  
  
“When do I drive you insane?”  
  
“When?” Chris asked, incredulous. “What about the zoo.”  
  
Darren shrugged, the motion rolling their bodies together slightly.  
  
Chris tipped his head to the side to look straight at him. “What about the aquarium. You remember the aquarium? You had a Red Bull and spent half an hour bouncing and talking about how awesome it would be if scientists adapted the DNA of manatees and made them really, really small.”  
  
“Well, yeah, then I could keep one as a pet. And if someone comes to visit our place and goes hey, is that a tiny manatee? I could be all,” he shrugged again, “fuck yeah it’s a tiny manatee. His name is George.”  
  
“And then you accidentally broke into the turtle enclosure and we got walked out by security.”  
  
“ _Accidentally_ ,” Darren pointed out with a wry grin.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Chris hummed. “Just like we _accidentally_ got married?”  
  
Darren sighed, and buried his face in the bedding with a groan. “Fiine,” he drawled, voice muffled by the quilt. “It’s my fault.”  
  
“That’s right,” Chris patted the arm that was pressed across his chest. “Now get up, and get your pants on, so we can go and fix this.”  
  
Darren rolled his head without lifting it, and watched Chris carefully from under a curtain of curls. “Does it have to be right now?”  
  
“What?” Chris asked, wide-eyed.   
  
A lazy smile crept across Darren’s mouth. “I don’t know, just … it’d be nice if lasted a little longer.”  
  
Chris stared at him for a moment, confused, before he leaned in and swept the handful of messy hair back from Darren’s face. He studied his expression, close and intense, for a moment – and just when he wondered if his stomach might start fluttering, he deadpanned with realisation. “You just want your first marriage to last longer than Britney, don’t you?”  
  
Darren laughed breathily, his eyes closing. “Shut up.”  
  
Chris grinned, exasperated but full of affection, and kissed his forehead. “ _Idiot._ ”  
  
He heaved a sigh, pulling himself up off the bed. “Fiiine,” he agreed. “But fifty-six hours and I’m pulling the plug.”  
  
Darren tilted his head back, staring at his best friend upside-down as he moved across the room. After a moment, he smiled fondly. “I love you, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Chris replied simply, finding his phone and checking for messages.  
  
Hauling himself up, Darren located his jeans and struggled into them awkwardly, almost tucking half the quilt into his pants and generally flailing on the bed. Chris chuckled and read his messages.   
  
“Text from Lauren, we’ve got more rehearsals tomorrow and a meeting with the lighting guys for the show on Monday,” he waved a hand at the bathroom once Darren had finished dressing. “Go sort yourself out, I’ll check out so we can get back this afternoon.”  
  
“Sort myself out?” Darren asked, patting himself down for wallet and keys.   
  
Chris eyed him, taking in the giant disheveled mop of hair and the slightly dazed expression on his face. “I love you, I do,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest for emphasis. “But right this second you look like a muppet that just licked a light socket.”  
  
Darren laughed, pressing his tongue to his teeth. “You’re so fucking _mean_ ,” he chided, grinning as he wandered past.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Chris answered with a smirk as he worked on his reply text message. “Nice try, you said you love me.”  
  
“I take it back,” Darren called mockingly from the bathroom.  
  
“No take-backs in this marriage,” Chris called, finishing up his text. “You live with what you got.”  
  
The musical sound of Darren’s laughter made Chris grin again as he slid his phone into his pocket.  
  
“I think I can live with that,” Darren replied.  
  
Still smiling, Chris splayed out his hand in front of him and gently rolled the silver band around his finger with the pad of his thumb. It wasn’t anything fancy, sterling silver at most, but for some reason he couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d take it off in another forty hours or so, they’d go back to working on the musical together – on Broadway, at last – and it would become one of those stories they only told to close company when they got too drunk.  
  
Years down the line, a friend might ask him why he wore a plain silver band round his neck on a chain.  
  
And Chris would just smile, and say, “Long story.”


End file.
